


Unreality

by carolc24



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks, Papyrus Has Issues, Papyrus Remembers Resets, Papyrus and Flowey are friends, Vague Suicidal Ideation, neutral endings mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolc24/pseuds/carolc24
Summary: If no one listens to you when you talk, and you can't protect anyone from danger, does that mean you don't exist?  (Papyrus has an existential crisis of sorts and Flowey helps him through it.)





	

A chill runs through his bones, and vague memories replay themselves in his mind.

Time stuttering like a broken record, and telling everyone he can find that today can’t be Tuesday, because yesterday was Tuesday, and being met with countless expressions of bemusement and concern and even pity.

Children turning into dust before his eyes, and reappearing the next day like nothing had happened, and why does he look so surprised?

A warrior, his role model, melting into nothing as she insists that she won’t die, and she was right all along, he isn’t strong enough to be a warrior like her.

His old friends learning how to wield spears and swords against humans, preparing to break the barrier and destroy their former oppressors, and he isn’t to join them, because his job is to stand around and look cute, and he realizes that this is the only job he is capable of doing.

Sitting in a field of golden flowers, a robe on his shoulders that is far too big for him, and his subjects are slowly dying, he can practically feel their dust slipping through his fingers, and his brother won’t look him in the eye anymore.

His vertebrae separating, his head detaching from his body and landing in the snow, and he barely has time to say anything to the glove-wielding figure who had just attacked him before it happens again, and again, and again, and he loses count of how many times he’s died now, and wonders if it is even real.

And the truth of the matter comes to him in a flash. All of this suffering, all of this pain, and he has never been able to doing anything about any of it, because he isn’t real. How can he be? Nothing about him has ever been genuine, he has no real personality, no real desires or feelings. He is merely a shadow, a concept, not substantial enough for anyone to see or hear or care about.

He can’t breathe. He gulps in air, but it escapes him as quickly as it enters him, because he isn’t real enough to hold it in. Can he suffocate, without a body or lungs? He claws at his neck, applying more and more pressure, and he can’t feel any pain, because you can’t feel pain if you aren’t real.

_Papyrus._ The word enters his mind unbidden and fills him with dread. It’s a name for something that doesn’t exist, a stranger who he has never met. There is no meaning to it, the image can only briefly pass through one’s mind and then be forgotten forever. Forgettable. Forgettable. Forgettable.

_Papyrus._ 3 ATK. 3 DEF. Forgettable.

_Papyrus._ Why does that word keep repeating? His hands wrap around the sides of his skull, fingers digging into bone, and he can’t feel them there. His legs kick uselessly, trying to get him away from the word, but nothing happened. If you aren’t real, you can’t move. You can’t ever escape.

_Papyrus, can you hear me?_ He can’t respond, because he has no voice, and no one could ever hear him, but his mind screams out at the message. Stop saying that. He isn’t real, Papyrus isn’t real, it’s just a fantasy, a made-up story, stop talking about it, it isn’t real.

_That’s not true. You are real._ Something cool and soft touches his fingers, and he tries to brush it away, but it clings to him, because it’s wrapped around his joints like string. He tugs at it frantically, trying to disentangle himself.

_Can you feel the vine? Can you feel your fingers touching it?_ It tightens, and he can hear a creaking noise, like something is about to snap, but he still can’t feel the pain. He pulls harder, waiting for his bones to snap and turn to dust and for him to vanish like he’s supposed to do.

_Focus on the vine. Just focus on how it feels. That vine is real, Papyrus. You are real, too. Your name is Papyrus, you’re my best friend, and you’re here with me. It’s all real._

The voice seems… oddly convincing. He rubs his other hand along the vine, feeling its texture, noticing how it gets caught in the crevasses of his fingers. They feel solid, too solid to be a shadow, too solid to be dust. They feel real.

_That’s right, Papyrus. Now, just breathe. You’re doing great._ He breathes in, and breathes out, and the air is real, it rushes through his skull and into his body, and then back out through his nasal cavity. He works himself into a rhythm, breathing, stroking the vine, soaking up the reality of it all.

He opens his eyes, and sees Flowey looking at him. He can’t tell what kind of face he’s making, because his vision is swimming, but he can see him relaxing at the sight of him calming down.

“Howdy, Papyrus. How are you feeling?” The word sticks in his brain, and he embraces it.

Papyrus breathes. “BETTER."


End file.
